you
by wildegreenlight
Summary: "If you think so much of me, why can't you trust what I think of you?" She could tell he didn't have an answer for that. "I don't really believe in 'deserving' any more...but if anyone does, it's you."


**A/N: because I cannot get enough of Shell Cottage, or the nobleness of Ron's bare feet...**

**This is the third installment of this missing moments series. Together they make a nice story, but they can be read independently.**

**Just** **in case**

**Much love to the always amazing** ** callieskye** **You are the wind beneath my wings and the biscuit beneath my gravy! Thank you for polishing the rough edges of my fic!**

**I apologize in advance for butchering the French...remember: everything I did, I did out of love ;)**

Wind whipped the edges of the borrowed dressing gown and she burrowed herself deeper into the curve of his arm. She couldn't even lie to herself; it wasn't the cold that made her relieved when he completed the circle with his other arm, pulling her close to his chest. She was vaguely aware of the others saying something: Luna, her voice as light as a bird's song _why had she not appreciated how beautiful her voice was before?_ She felt Ron speak, but couldn't quite make out his words.

All she really could hear was the sound of the surf and the steady beating of Ron's heart. She didn't think she'd ever been so grateful for a sound before. She scrunched her eyes shut for a moment to try and better fix it in her mind. _Thub thub. Thub thub._ Pressing her ear even closer, the sound took over; convincing her, reassuring her that he was actually alive, that they were alive, and they were here together. How was it possible to feel so safe and warm when the world was literally in shambles at your feet?

_Feet. Ron's feet._

Once they were back in the cottage, Ron walked with her toward the stairs. After so many months of being on their own, having so many people around was making her more than a little anxious. She wondered if he felt the same. More than anything right now she needed to be alone with him.

"You need to rest, let me take you up," he looked at her so tenderly that she almost couldn't breathe.

"I'm fine," it wasn't a lie, just an exaggeration, "I could use a trip to the loo though."

"Ok, I'll come with," his face flushed at his unintentional forwardness, "I mean, I'll wait in the hall 'till you're done...I...I don't think you should try the stairs alone yet."

"Thank you...I think that's a good idea."

If she walked a little slower than was absolutely necessary there was no harm in it, it was best to be cautious with dark curses wasn't it? _And if it kept his arm around her a few more minutes, that was okay too, wasn't it? _

At the end of the hallway he paused at the open door, stepping slightly away from her so that she might go inside alone. The absence of his arm around her made her unsteady, and she swayed slightly. Ron quickly cupped her elbow, looking more than a little panicked.

"Woah," she smiled at him to calm his fears, "maybe I should sit for just a bit."

"Here," he turned her toward the room he had carried her into hours earlier, all but lifting her this time as well, "chair or bed?"

"Bed," she shook her head when he tried to guide her toward the pillows, "but just to sit...will you sit with me?"

"Of course, but if you are tired I can sit in the chair while you sleep."

"No, this is better," she closed the tiny space between them, pressing her left side against his right.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Once again he wrapped a protective arm over her shoulder, and she gave a contented hum before she could stop herself. _But why would she stop herself? Wasn't that a child's game? Were they not past all that? _Time and doubt were not luxuries they could afford. Any doubt she may have harbored about his feelings had died a noble death on a cold floor and been swept out to sea while he clutched her in his arms.

"Ron," once again she looked down at his bare feet, pale against the cheery rug.

"Yeah?"

"What happened to your shoes?"

"Uhm...my shoes?"

Hermione already knew the answer, had seen them on Dobby's feet before Bill had completed the burial, but she wanted to see what he would say. And even though it meant losing some of their closeness, she changed positions so that she was facing him.

"Well, Dobby...you know how he loves...loved," he turned toward her, "he loved socks...and trainers. And it just didn't seem right, ya know, for him to not have any...for, well, forever...and it was the least I could do. I mean seeing as how he saved...he saved you."

He passed the back of his hand over his cheek and let out a huge sigh.

She let her hand find the warmth of his knee, "Us...he saved all of us."

"Well at the time I wasn't really thinking about anyone else," he took her hand in his for emphasis. "There's no way I could ever pay him back, but I had to at least do something."

She studied his face. The simple, noble earnestness in what he had said. How could someone have such pure intentions? Give and expect nothing in return, not even recognition?

"I think it was perfect," she laced her fingers between his, "but he wasn't the only one that saved me."

Ron was already shaking his head, she knew this wouldn't be easy.

"You saved me."

"No,"he lowered his eyes dejectedly.

"You offered to take my place," she dipped her head lower, trying to bring his eyes to hers.

"Didn't do any good," he said it so softly that he wasn't even sure she'd hear it.

"Is that what you really think?"

He did look at her then, his eyes suddenly row-fierce, "It's what I know, Hermione! She hurt you and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it!"

_There, that's better. He wasn't the only one good at strategy_. She raised her voice just enough to match his.

"No one else made that offer...YOU did! You didn't even hesitate!" _Could he honestly not see what that those four words had meant to her? Have me! Keep me! _

"You have to believe I'd give anything for it to have been me and not you."

He was doing that thing he'd been doing ever since his return: not exactly backing down from her, but not challenging her too fiercely either. _Not this time! _

"Of course I believe it! Can you believe that I would give anything to keep that from happening?"

"Don't say that," his words struggled to free themselves from his clenched jaw.

"Why not...why are you the only one that can make the sacrifice? Why are you the only one that gets to show how they feel? Why, Ron?"

"Because..because I don't deserve it!" He ignored her look of admonishment, making a small concession, "Not yet...maybe I never will."

Hermione looked down at their joined hands, noticing the cluster of tiny scars on his forearm. Tracing them with the index finger of her free hand, she thought of what a ridiculous word _deserve_ was. _Deserve_ was a word that tried to make the world a world where things made sense. A world where, if you did as you were told and read all the right books and brushed your teeth and finished your homework, you got to live happily ever after. A world an arrogant, privileged, eleven year-old-Hermione believed in and worked ardently for. A world that this Hermione knew was nothing more than a lie.

"And you think I do?"

"You know I do."

"If you think so much of me, why can't you trust what I think of you?" She could tell he didn't have an answer for that. "I don't really believe in 'deserving' any more...but if anyone does, it's you."

"I left."

"You came back."

It was that simple, in her mind anyway, but she understood him well enough to know that for him it would take time. She breathed a wordless prayer that they would be given that time. When she looked back over it all now, she understood that it had all been rolling faster and faster. It had started with a dirty nose, a fat rat, and an insufferable know-it-all.

"You saved me from a troll."

"I called you a nightmare."

"I am a nightmare," before he could protest she added, "but I'm working on it."

He laughed despite himself, and she realized just how much she had missed his laughter-just how much she wanted a future full of that sound. They were heading toward the end, she could feel it. It was like reading a good book, you see how few pages are left. And you want to know so desperately how it ends, so you read faster and faster. But then you think, once I know, it's over, so you slow down and try to soak in each word, to make it last as long as possible.

For all those years doubt had been the barrier she feared to cross. So now that it wasn't doubt that restrained her, what was it? She didn't know if there was a word for it exactly, but kissing him now would feel like cheating. Like skipping to the last page of that book and ruining the ending.

"Well, at least you're not a '_complete arse_'"

They were back on safe, familiar ground. She knew she could only push him so far; he wasn't ready to see himself as she did, but in all fairness she could say the same of herself. Maybe for now it was enough that they could see the best in one another.

"_Complete_ was probably a bit of an exaggeration," she held up her thumb and index finger, making the tiniest gap possible.

"Good to know your sass is still securely in place."

"Learned from the best."

"The best, huh?"

She nodded, adding a wink and a smile before leaning fully into him. The hug was tighter than was entirely good for the soreness in her bruised body, but no amount of pain would have kept her from it. Neither of them bothered to move when Fleur came tentatively in the doorway.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but I 'ave some shoes for you, Ron. Zey may be a bit too small."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," he turned his head toward his sister in law, but did not let go of Hermione, "Thank you...for everything."

"No need to mention it, we are family, no?"

Hermione looked up to see Fleur smiling widely at both of them. There had been a time that she had felt contempt for the woman who had so graciously opened her home to them, but now she felt nothing but gratitude. It was funny how time changed some things.

"Really Fleur, thank you...I'm not your family, so I can mention it."

She turned then to leave but threw back a casual, "_N'êtes-vous pas_?" over her shoulder.

"_Nous devrons attendre et voir_," and even though she understood the language better than she spoke it, her meaning must have been clear because the jingle of Fleur's laughter could be heard as she went back down stairs.


End file.
